


Liberty

by yersifanel



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst with a Happy Ending, Father Figures, Father-Son Relationship, Fix-It, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 12:11:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11668866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yersifanel/pseuds/yersifanel
Summary: Five times Yondu struggled with freedom, and one time he didn't.





	Liberty

**(I.)**

In theory, it should have been easy to keep him in line, to make a perfect soldier – servant, plaything, object, _slave_ – out of him because he had never know what it meant to be free. Yondu Udonta was sold to the Kree Empire and lost his freedom before he even knew what it was; the normalcy of his youth was a cage, the orders and desires of whatever master he was to serve and the reality that there was nothing else for him.

Such was his life, and there was no fighting to be done for he knew not what was robbed from him.

At least, not at first.

Even without knowing freedom and the basics of living rights, he knew this was no life. The cage, the punishments, the humiliation and degradation, the utter lack of voice… it sat wrong in his spirit.

His child eyes traced the darkness, bloody fingers tapping silently on the cold floor of the cage his master locked him into, his mind racing in silence, wondering why he was to obey, to be in pain, to suffer… just because.

"We're slaves," and older man had told him once, "They are our masters."

"But _why_?" he had questioned, because in his mind he was no lesser than others, there was no reason for him to be _less_ , races and birthrights having no meaning in his understanding.

There was no answer, he was less than his masters because he was born as such, a lesser being. It's hard to fight the monsters of the unknown, especially when you can't put faces on them, but he wondered, even when he couldn't set a name to many things, speculating if they ever existed.

"Not being owned by anyone," he mumbled in the dark, "What's that?"

There were things he did know, like the feeling in your chest when your master is laughing at you while you cry. He didn't know the name of that, but he knew it existed because he felt it, almost every day. If there was a name for that, surely there was a name for _not_ feeling like that.

He couldn't help but wonder what it was, if it really had a name and if he ever would know it.

The fight in his spirit blossomed even without knowing what the name of what he fought for, but as he grew, the flame inside him was not enough to give him what he seek. His defiance, his insistence in trying to find the meaning and feeling of not being owned, brought him even more pain.

Yondu knew the name of what he was feeling, when the heat of the laser knife cut his fin, robbing him of his connection with the nature around him, forever.

_Pain, despair, hate, fear, sorrow, humiliation, defeat…_

Then nothing.

They were filing and buffing whatever was left of the external layers of his fin when he just stopped feeling, the surface was destroyed, he could no longer feel the connection.

 _Loss… this is loss…_  

It was easier then, to not feel, to not care. He was no longer angry when humiliated, no longer pained when punished and no longer dejected when caged. He felt nothing and perhaps it was for the best, for that thing he had been seeking, that unknown _not being owned_ thing… he would never find it.

You can't find what you don't know, and he didn't know it… he might never know 'not being owned'.

 

 

**(II.)**

The hand clawing at his neck was unforgivable, already drawing blood as his master pressed the knife against his pulse point, spatting insults and threats to the bandits attacking the ship, destroying any resemblance of power and grace they had have before, the men did not care for whatever authority his masters had, because to them they had none.

Yondu didn't understand.

Who were these people confronting his masters so firm and secure of their actions as if they were not committing a grave offense against the Kree Empire? But most important, why could they be so sure of themselves and… fight?

Why weren't they like him? What did they have that he lacked?

 _Not being owned_ , his mind supplied, these people had _'not being owned'_.

The man dressed in leathers didn't even blink when he shoot his master between the eyes, when the knife was about to slice Yondu's throat. His aim was precise, direct, and effective. Yondu stood there, looking at the man who had 'Not Being Owned', and so much more, in silent awe.

"You ok kid?" the man asked, walking closer to him and carefully touching where the knife's edge had cut him, "Shit."

Yondu licked his lips, eyes swimming in confusion; was this man another master now that his last one was dead? He couldn't tell, but he didn't fight when the man dragged him off the remains of his former master's ship and to one another, presenting himself as Stakar Ogord, leader of the Ravager clan of the same name.

"We need to take that thing off ya', yes?" The man tapped the collar and Yondu frowned, but put no resistance when Stakar broke the seal, and for the first time in years, Yondu could easily breathe, "The'r, yer free now."

"Free?" he asked with the voice of a child, even if he was well past that stage in life, _seen too much horror, lived even more._

Stakar sighed and traced the base of Yondu's head, eyes watching the path were the surface of his fin rooted, unable to regrow. There was something in his eyes, something Yondu recognized.

Sadness.

"Yes, free," Stakar looked at him in the eye. "Yer owned no more."

Yondu drew a gasp, eyes wide. Was this it? _Free_ , was that the word for Not Being Owed?

"Free," he repeated and a little smile crossed his lips, "I'm free."

Stakar tilted his head to a side and nodded, "Yer name?"

He blinked, "Yondu."

"Nice," he approved. "Yondu, Let me tell ya about the Ravagers."

Being free, _freedom_ , Stakar gave that to him, and finally Yondu he knew it.

 

 

 **(III.)**  

Choices were part of freedom, and it was hard to understand such things as having a choice when he had never been given one. But Stakar knew choices, he knew freedom and he also knew responsibility, in Stakar's eyes, making sure Yondu knew what the world had denied him for twenty years was his responsibility.

The prosthetic was a choice, he was a Centaurian without a fin, but he had the choice to get something close to a replacement, if he wanted to. It would never been the same but Yondu hardly remembered what it felt like in first place, he only had vague memories about nature and songs in the air, stories about yaka and the echo of string bows snapping, arrows flying across the sky followed by the whistle of warriors.

"Yes."

The modification was his choice, the first he had about his own body in… well, ever.

After that came the Yaka arrow, the information he managed to gather and the little he remembered was crude but he figured it out, by the time he was done shaping the arrow head he had everything ready, one step closer to testing the connection between the artificial fin and the arrow made of a material native to his world. He observed the weapon before him for a long moment, Stakar close by pretending he was not watching over him.

Yondu had a choice, many things came with a choice, many he didn't know and Stakar could not explain in a single try, only by living is that Yondu could know such things.

_Gratification, disappointment, responsibility, consequences…_

He whistle.

The arrow came to life, shooting across the field and Yondu kept the tune, change it, watching the arrow go, he did it again and again and again for many hours and many days until his whistle was synonyms with defense and offense, until his whistle and his arrow were his mayor notable weapon against the world.

Stakar was proud and Stakar showed him what things, positive and negative, came with the freedom to make choices.

Some of his choices lead to satisfaction, like choosing to whistle the yaka arrow, despite his fear of failing to make it fly. Some lead to disappointment, like the time he choose the wrong person to get close to, and if not for Stakar, he would have experience a gruesome betrayal. Some of his choices lead to experience, for being a Ravager was no easy task, becoming a leader himself after Stakar's approval was even harder. But every single one of his choices led to _consequences_.

Good and bad.

It was his choice to listen to Ego and it was his choice to not see the terrible fate he lead those children to until it was too late, for the damage was done and it could never been revert.

It was his choice to not deliver Peter to Ego, and so was his choice to confess to Stakar what he had done, being exiled from the Ravagers was a consequence.

In the darkness of his cabin, too drunk in the need to drown the pain of losing the closest thing he had to a parent, Yondu concluded that no matter how much Stakar taught him about freedom and what came with it, he was not entirely able to understand it.

But damn if he was not going to at least _try_.

 

 

 **(IV.)**  

Freedom came with choices, but freedom was not free, it came with responsibility.

He didn't know how to be responsible for another's life, Stakar never taught him this and it was too late to ask, for he was no longer welcome. That was a consequence of his own choices and he was trying – very hard, thought he would never admit it – to own that.

Peter was… Peter was just a kid and Yondu was responsible for him now.

An angry, bitter part of his own self label Peter as a _consequence_ and resent him for everything the kid was not accountable for; Ego's offer turned deception, Stakar's disappointment, his banishment, and the sleepless nights regretting his stupidity.

But Peter was _not_ a consequence, he was just a lonely kid taken from his world and tossed into the unknown, living in the danger of being found by a murderous ancient creature he didn't even know, who also happened to be his sire.

Peter was Yondu's responsibility, not because he turn a blind eye to the truth for money and could no longer do that, but because he choose to open his eyes and _see_.

He chose to be responsible for Peter, for saving him, for keeping him alive and safe, away from Ego and whomever tried to harm him. But Peter was not a possession to lock and hide the key – not like he had been, never like he had been – he was a kid that needed to be raise.

Yondu had no idea what he was doing.

Keeping Peter safe from the external world was not that hard, but some nights Yondu felt like he was doing more harm to the kid than the outside world. He was trying to be a Ravager Captain but that was not the same was being a father and Peter needed a father.

"Try again, son."

He understood now… what responsibility was, and it wasn't easy.

Peter held the blaster as Yondu guided his hand to point to the target, a smile forming on his face, one of those sincere and truthful smiles he gave Yondu even after screaming and fighting him tooth and nail for one thing or another. Because at the end of the day there was a part of Peter's young mind that understood, perhaps, Yondu was at least trying.

Or maybe he didn't, Yondu couldn't tell.

Whatever the case, they were in a rocky path together. It was a long, hard walk and Yondu was exhausted already, but he had kept Peter alive and safe all this time and he was not planning to stop anytime soon.

He never said it out loud, how much Peter meant to him. But he was glad that the kid crawled into his heart without him noticing, how much he loved him.

Peter was a choice, a responsibility and a reward at the same time, one that Yondu didn't deserve, yet here he was, living those moments and saving each one of them, in silence.

Those smiles were a reward, the ones Peter gave in the privacy of their lives, when he could be soft and truthful, every inch of him something pure and good. In him, Yondu could see everything he was not, and without knowing, Peter gave Yondu something akin to hope.

Because if Yondu could raise a kid to be this good, even with all the defects in his persona, then perhaps he was not as rotten as he thought himself to be, perhaps, he wasn't so irresponsible, after all.

 

 

**(V.)**

Freedom and everything that came with it – Choices. Consequences. Understanding. Responsibility. –lead to this moment, because Yondu now knew that he had not understood freedom until now, when he was choosing Peter's life over his own.

He was free to choose to safe his son's life, no matter the cost.

His life had been filled with mistakes, many he had not owned until it was too late or not at all. By no means had he been the perfect father, but damn if he had not tried.

Now he was finally able to understand what _Not Being Owned_ meant, what Stakar gave him, what Peter gifted to him and what the Universe offered, and it was amazing.

Yondu regretted a lot of things in his life and if he could turn back time, he would try to at least not make half of his mayor mistakes, it would have been a bit easier, if he knew back then what he knows now.

But he can't turn the clock, he can only face forward, for his time is ending in exchange to let his son's time continue, and that is a choice he would gladly make again and again and again, free to make it as many times as he was allowed, as long as Peter lives to see another day for the rest of his life.

He almost doesn't feel it, the cold of space, he's too happy to see Peter alive, even at the cost of his own life; his choice, his responsibility, his boy, his son.

_I'm free now, because you're safe to see another day._

 

 

 **(+ 1)**  

In silence, Peter wonders if Yondu – his father – is ever going to wake up. The odds are not against him, not anymore at least, not like the moment he was almost gone if not for Stakar's intervention, when the life in him was all but gone.

Still, a flame persisted; a spark, from Peter's fingertips to Yondu's heart, giving the man who saved him – who raised him, who loved him – a chance.

There were many things Peter wanted to ask Yondu, and many more to do once the damn bastard opened his eyes. He was waiting for that moment in eager anticipation, he wanted to shout in anger, shake him in retribution and hug him in gratitude, and not necessarily in that other… the hug would probably go first.

(It was definitely going first)

"He's goin' to wake up," Stakar's voice rippled over the silence, making Peter look over his shoulder, his hand holding Yondu's still, "Tought brat, yer dad."

Peter smiled, "And stubborn, _very_ stubborn."

"Runs in the family," the elder Ravager said, "Seems you got it as well."

"Learned from the best."

There was much of Stakar in Yondu as there was of Yondu in Peter, he could see that now. It felt good to have this piece in his life, even if he didn’t know he was missing it in first place, but here they were, back together by the choices they made, owning each one of them.

It felt good, to be free.


End file.
